


Happiest Girl

by clocksworks



Category: Depeche Mode
Genre: Black Celebration era, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Internalized Homophobia, Lingerie, M/M, Mentions of their wives/girlfriends, Mutual Pining, Shaving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clocksworks/pseuds/clocksworks
Summary: Alan makes a bet that Dave would not be able to pass off as a woman in ladies’ clothing. Dave decides to prove him wrong.
Relationships: Dave Gahan/Alan Wilder
Comments: 45
Kudos: 37





	1. Go big or go home, Gahan

**Author's Note:**

> I received a series of anonymous asks on Tumblr, asking if I’d ever considered writing Dave in lingerie. I admitted that the idea had not crossed my mind, but it did plant a seed that got me thinking. This is the result! Set during the Black Celebration era.

“No way.” Alan was smirking, his eyes on Martin across the room who was currently holding court at the press mixer in his leather maxi-dress. “You couldn’t pull it off.”

“I could.” Dave knew he sounded way too indignant for what was essentially a half-drunken conversation about men wearing women’s clothes. Alan had started going on about how Martin was the only one out of the four of them who could really pull it off, and Dave had been weirdly offended. Maybe he hadn’t liked the way Alan’s appreciative gaze had lingered on Martin a little too long. No, that would be insane.

At least that petulant response got Alan’s attention to snap back to him. “You really do think you could?” Alan’s smirk was fading, and in his eyes, Dave thought he could detect a spark of...interest?

Dave scoffed, sipping his wine. “Not that hard, is it? All a decent-looking bloke needs is a good dress and a shave, yeah? Maybe some make-up.”

They were interrupted by two journalists who asked them how the evening was going and how fans were receiving the new album. Dave and Alan had established their own rhythm by now, Alan talking about the recording process and the more technical aspects of the album while Dave waxed lyrical about the band’s experience working together and how they were always trying to aim for something different. They both took turns answering the questions neither of them were equipped to answer - the ones about the songwriting process - but Martin was otherwise occupied and most journos didn’t seem to care that Dave and Alan themselves had no clue what went on in the wonderful world of Martin L. Gore’s head sometimes.

Alan sighed with relief when the journos finally went away. “God, how much more of this?” he muttered, glancing at his watch.

“Think we can make a run for it?” Dave suggested, noticing that most of the journos in attendance were flocking towards Fletch who had started loudly telling some funny story about Martin.

“Lead the way,” Alan said gratefully, following Dave out.  
  


***  
  


They ended up raiding the minibar in Dave’s room, Alan flipping through all the TV channels for one showing the Bundesliga while Dave rifled through his closet for the most, well, feminine item he owned. It had to be the black crop-top, he decided, or that sparkly mesh see-through shirt that he suspected he inherited from Martin’s castaways. “What about this, then?” Dave held up the crop-top against his body, posing for a confused Alan.

“What are you on about?” It suddenly dawned on Alan what Dave was referring to, and he could only chuckle. “Are you still hung up on that? Leave the crown to Mart, mate.”

“I’m not hung up on it, I’m just saying you’re wrong.” Dave unbuttoned the fancy shirt he’d been wearing for the press mixer, pleased that Alan was watching him get undressed. He slid on the crop-top, examining his reflection in the hotel mirror before striking a pose for Alan. “Admit it Al, I’m bloody attractive in this.”

“You still look like a bloke, though,” Alan pointed out. Dave was happy that Alan hadn’t refuted his attractiveness at all. The way his eyes were lingering on Dave’s exposed belly was actually quite gratifying.

“Well, I don’t have any dresses on hand, so this will do.” Dave swaggered over to Alan, whose gaze was still fixed on Dave’s stomach. It was actually a minor miracle, getting Alan’s attention when there was footie on the telly.

“If we’re going to make this a proper bet, I’ll get you one.” Alan’s voice was quiet, but Dave didn’t miss the underlying challenge in his tone. “Go big or go home, Gahan.”

“Oh yeah?” Dave cocked his hips at Alan, laughing. “Bring it on, mate.”  
  


***  
  


Dave should have known that Alan was as good as his word. If Alan said he was going to do something, he meant it - which was why Dave shouldn’t have been surprised to pop into Alan’s hotel room a few days later and find a series of shopping bags from various boutiques. “You bloody didn’t,” Dave said in amazement, peeking into the bags on Alan’s bed.

Alan gave him a strange look that Dave couldn’t quite read. “You thought I was joking?”

“Thought we were drunk,” Dave muttered, but there was something stirring within him that he hadn’t expected, a dark thrill at the idea that Alan had thought this through carefully and gone shopping for clothes, just for Dave.

“I was perfectly serious.” Now Alan was grinning again, which made Dave relax. “So, the terms of the bet--”

“Wait, why do you get to set the terms?” Dave complained, holding up a shimmery pink dress. “I’m the poor bastard who has to wear this!”

“Let’s make it worth your while, then.” Alan folded his arms across his chest, arching an eyebrow at Dave. “So you claim you would be able to pass off as a proper lady?”

“I absolutely would.” Dave was unable to stop touching the soft shimmery material of the dress, despite himself.

Alan waved a dismissive hand at him. “Fine, you say you can. And I say we’ll be rumbled within five minutes of you stepping out in public.”

“Five minutes?” Dave shook his head at his friend. “Oh, ye of little faith. Give me some credit, Al.”

Alan simply shrugged. “So, what are we wagering?”

Dave thought about it. “Winner gets a hundred quid?”

Alan scoffed. “Not bloody likely. I spent a lot more than that for the dresses alone.”

Dave was astonished. “You did?” It seemed Alan was taking this bet a lot more seriously than he was.

“Like I said, go big or go home.” Alan was looking at him expectantly. “Besides, money isn’t really the point, is it?”

“Guess not.” It may have been crass to say it out loud, but they were all starting to bring home quite a sizable salary at this point of their careers. Money was the very last thing Dave wanted from Alan.

What he really wanted was--

“How about we stick to our usual, then?” Alan said halfheartedly. “Loser buys the winner a few rounds at the pub.”

Dave lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess. Or maybe-- loser lets the winner drink the bar dry, yeah?”

They shook on it, and Dave didn’t know why he felt disappointed and foolish, like he’d missed his chance.  
  


***  
  


They were now in the thick of the West German leg of their tour, which was always the longest. Dave was pleased to arrive in Hamburg; he’d always loved the hedonistic seediness of the city and its dark underbelly which it never bothered to hide. It felt like a sister city to New York, in that sense.

Alan hadn’t brought up the bet again over the last three days since they’d shaken hands on it, but then again it’d been a nonstop whirlwind of back-to-back gigs, press interviews and travel. They were finally going to get a bit of a breather in Hamburg and West Berlin, which was fine by Dave. Alan seemed tired too and a little distracted, which was very unusual for him. Even Martin’s poofy hair looked like it was starting to wilt. They could all do with a break.

So when Alan rang Dave’s hotel room and asked him to come over on their very first day off in Hamburg, Dave imagined that it was Alan merely wanting to get lunch together or maybe talk about hitting some of the clubs on the Reeperbahn that night. Instead he was surprised to find Alan laying out dresses on his bed, methodically arranging them according to colour and length. “Which one d’you like?” Alan asked him, gesturing towards the dresses.

Dave goggled at him. “We’re doing the bet thing _tonight_?”

Alan looked at him like he had grown three heads. “Yeah, course we are.”

“But why?”

Alan started counting off on his fingers. “Firstly, it’s our day off. Secondly, I don’t want to keep lugging these dresses all over Europe. So the faster we get rid of them, the better. And thirdly, we’re in Hamburg. I can’t think of a better place that’s more, uh, accepting of blokes in dresses. In case, y’know, we get caught.”

Dave didn’t miss the use of ‘we’ in that sentence, which was actually a little heartwarming. It reminded Dave that he wasn’t alone in this, that Alan wasn’t going to let him get punched by some homophobic bastard who found out he wasn’t a woman. “Alright, okay,” Dave conceded with a sigh, going over to look at the dresses.

They picked over the selections together as though they were discussing which samples they’d wanted to program into the Emulator. Dave was actually privately impressed with Alan’s tastes; it seemed that Alan was aware Dave preferred fitting clothes, and had chosen accordingly. Dave found his gaze continually drawn to a cute little black number that looked like it would be skimpy but comfortable. Alan must have noticed, because he was smiling as he nodded towards it. “Like that one, do you?”

Dave shrugged, wondering if it was normal for him to feel this eager about the proceedings. “It’s not bad.”

Something in Alan’s smile sharpened. “Go try it on, then.”

Dave gawked at him. “Wh- here? Right now?”

Alan looked confused. “Yeah, of course. We need to see if it works first.”

Muttering under his breath, Dave pulled off his t-shirt and unzipped his denim cut-offs, kicking them off so that he was only standing there in his boxers. He was figuring out how to slip the dress on when Alan looked over at him and chuckled. “You’re not going to wear _those_ under that pretty dress tonight, are you?” he asked, pointing at Dave’s plaid boxers.

Dave looked down at them. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

Alan’s face was riddled with doubt. “Hard to explain, really. It just-- it’ll look a bit weird, right?”

“To who?” Dave said incredulously. “I don’t know about you mate, but I’m not planning on letting anyone peek under my dress while I’m in this get-up.”

A shadow of something quickly passed over Alan’s face, but it was gone before Dave could fully process it. “Maybe briefs would be a better fit,” Alan said tentatively.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dave said. “I’m not wearing knickers though, so don’t bloody ask.”

That shadow was briefly back again. “Just wear the dress, will you?” Alan’s tone was one of fond exasperation, so Dave threw his t-shirt at Alan’s head with a laugh and proceeded to figure his way into the dress.

It was made out of a smooth and stretchy fabric that felt cool on Dave’s skin, and he liked the long sleeves that lent the dress an air of respectability and classiness, especially given that the hem stopped halfway down Dave’s thighs. He stared at himself in the hotel mirror, a little shocked at how nicely the dress outlined the planes of his body. The long sleeves helped to soften the hard curves of his shoulders, and the clingy fabric brought out the narrowness of his waist. Unfortunately, it also meant the bunchy material of his boxers was visible through the fabric. Bloody Alan had been right.

Alan walked over to look over his shoulder. “Looks pretty good. The boxers--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” An irritated Dave waved him away. “I’ll wear briefs later.”

“Don’t forget your legs.” Alan actually squatted down to run a hand up and down Dave’s hairy shins. “Have a go at them with the razor, that should sort them out.”

“Fuck.” Now Dave was beginning to finally feel a little out of his depth. Had he really bitten off more than he could chew?

It must have shown on his face, for Alan was taking pity on him. “Just come by my room later before we head out,” he offered as he stood up. “It’s easier if someone helps.”

Dave was rather curious why Alan was being so helpful if he truly wanted Dave to fail. Alan could be surprisingly competitive, despite his easygoing manner and generally chill attitude. Maybe Alan wanted to see Dave make a fool of himself in public. But then again, it didn’t explain why he’d spent so much on the dresses. There was something else afoot here, and Dave was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

Which meant, unfortunately, that he had to play along for now.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had wanted to use the word 'transphobic' instead of 'homophobic', but a quick google search tells me the word didn't gain traction until the late 90s/early 00s.)


	2. Ready to go, Cinderella?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love to **what_could_have_been** for drawing out a [particular scene in this chapter](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/post/625255887453421568/for-happiest-girl-part-4-by) (don't click yet if you don't want spoilers). Think it's my most favourite thing they've ever done!

Dave was sitting on the edge of Alan’s tub in shorts and a tank-top, and Alan was down on his knees before him, slathering his right leg with shaving foam. For some reason Dave couldn’t stop thinking about ‘Master and Servant’, and how they’d argued with that interviewer over whether the lyrics were about sex. Mart and Alan had insisted no, Dave had insisted yes. Now he was beginning to think he’d been in the wrong all along.

“All right?” Alan asked him, his razor poised over Dave’s shin.

Dave gave him a single sharp nod. It was just fucking shaving, for God’s sake.

Alan started with clean, deft strokes. Very much like how either of them would go at their faces in the morning, but being under the laser-like focus of Alan’s attention was intoxicating. Dave simply couldn’t get over the fact that Alan was on his knees, in front of him. Dave would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined this scenario many times before (except that in his mind, Alan was usually doing something a lot less pedestrian than shaving Dave’s legs).

“Up,” Alan instructed, his hands cool around Dave’s ankle. Dave shifted as he was told, planting one foot on the ground for support. He could hear the blare of the telly coming from Alan’s room - some German news broadcast - as well as the steady sound of Alan’s slow, even breaths. Alan had already done his hair up for tonight, his lips shiny with the balm he used while touring. Dave briefly wondered if the balm was flavourless.

Dave’s vantage point meant he now had a great view of the way Alan’s long lashes fanned out over his cheeks, prettier than some girls Dave knew. Alan’s breathing was slowly getting more laboured, although Dave didn’t know why. His face was impassive, impossible to read. Surely shaving a friend’s legs wasn’t that physically exhausting?

Dave kept watching Alan, who paused his work only to rinse the razor under the tap a few times to get rid of the hair. It was stunning, watching that smooth pale skin emerging from under the path of the blade. Dave had always thought that women were called the fairer sex for a reason; they didn’t have that much body hair to contend with, and their legs always appeared soft and smooth under his touch. So it was rather disconcerting that Alan could achieve the same effect for him with nothing but patience, shaving foam and a triple-bladed Gillette.

As Alan worked his way up Dave’s leg, his razor stopped at the top of Dave’s knee, his gaze flitting up to meet Dave’s. “Should I–” Alan said hesitantly, gesturing towards Dave’s thighs with his razor. Dave’s body hair was a lot sparser on his thighs; it wasn’t as bad as his legs, but someone in close quarters would definitely get an eyeful.

“Erm.” Dave wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea of Alan’s hands on his thighs, spreading them open. “Might as well, yeah? At least until where the hemline is.”

“Fair enough.” Alan rolled up the hem of Dave’s shorts, pushing his thighs apart just as Dave had envisioned earlier. The shaving cream was cold on Dave’s skin, but Alan’s hands were warm. Dave couldn’t help a shiver as Alan worked his way upwards, his strokes a lot slower and more careful now. Alan’s face was impassive, but the tips of his ears were bright red.

Dave thought he could feel Alan’s breath on his skin, slow and measured.

It felt like both a lifetime and a fleeting second when Alan was finally finished. “That’s done,” Alan said, extraordinarily pleased with his work as he wiped down Dave’s leg with one of the hotel’s hand towels. Dave couldn’t help admiring the bare, smooth paleness of his right leg. It seemed Alan liked it too; he was staring down in fascination at Dave’s newly revealed skin, rubbing a thumb across his ankle.

“Al?” Dave said a little uncertainly.

“Right.” Alan set Dave’s foot down, that earlier fascination shuttered away. Now he was brisk and business-like again. “Other leg, Gahan,” he said, tapping Dave’s left ankle.

This time Alan was precise and methodical with Dave’s left leg, with no stray touches or looks. It was a bit of a letdown, except that Dave didn’t know why the hell he felt so disappointed. Alan was helping him out, like a good mate would. That was all. There was also that insane bet that neither of them were willing to back down from, and in less than an hour, Dave would be out on the streets of Hamburg in a dress and bare legs and maybe make-up, and he began to realise just what he’d signed up for.

Then he felt long, elegant fingers wrapping around his ankle. “All right?” Alan asked him carefully. Dave knew Alan well enough to understand that Alan was offering him an out, that he’d let Dave bow out gracefully and someday they would chuckle over this daft bet they’d embarked upon without much thought. Alan would give the dresses away, Dave would let his leg hair grow back, and they might even tell Mart and Fletch about this for a laugh.

But what if they saw this through?

Dave steeled his resolve, smiling down at Alan who was still on his knees before him. “I’m fine, Charlie.”

Alan’s mouth crooked up in a secretive little smile, the one he often flashed Dave during press junkets when they were sharing some private joke. “Good,” Alan said, and that was enough.

There was a loud knock on Alan’s room door. “Who’s that?” Dave asked, slightly alarmed.

Alan patted his knee indulgently as he stood up with a wink. “Reinforcements.”  
  


***  
  


As Dave finished shaving his face, he could hear Alan speaking to someone at the door, a woman who replied in halting English. This was followed by the rustle of shopping bags being handed over, Alan thanking her for her help and asking her to bill everything to his room. Then the door clicked shut again.

Curious to see what Alan was up to, Dave quickly splashed his face with water before toweling himself dry. He still couldn’t get over his legs and how velvety smooth they were. His skin was tingling a little, whether from the foam or something else - he wasn’t sure. Rolling down the hem of his shorts, he emerged from the bathroom to find Alan alone on his bed, rifling through two large white shopping bags with the hotel’s logo. “Who was that?” Dave asked again.

“Concierge.” Alan was smiling that mysterious little smile of his. “Thought it was easier if I asked her to pick out some make-up. And this.”

Reaching into the other bag, Alan gently pulled out an incredibly realistic-looking wig with long dark curls. Dave was at a loss for words as he crossed the room, reaching out to comb his fingers through the soft brown strands. The wig’s colour and texture was very similar to his own natural shade. “For fuck’s sake, Al,” Dave said, when he finally found his voice. “You do know you’re shooting yourself in the foot, right? You’re gonna lose, mate.”

Alan gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t want you to complain that I set you up to fail. So I’m giving you every possible advantage,” he explained, scooping out the bottles and boxes of make-up to place them on his dressing table. “I maintain that someone’s still going to see through you, despite our efforts. Now put that wig back and make yourself useful, Gahan.”

Still a little stunned, Dave did as he was told before going over to help Alan with laying out the make-up. They were all already familiar with stage make-up, of course, although Martin was the only hardcore purveyor who had his own collection. Dave briefly wondered why Alan hadn’t considered asking Martin for his help or his make-up stash, but the answer was obvious enough. Alan probably didn’t want Dave to be embarrassed, and Fletch (who was 100% going to get wind of their bet from Martin) was the sort who would tease endlessly for weeks.

In the end, they decided to keep it simple for Dave: face powder, eyeliner, a touch of eyeshadow and lipstick. Alan was an expert with the eyeliner, although they had to fumble a bit with the powder and eyeshadow, wiping off their mistakes after a few disastrous tries that made Dave look like he’d been punched in both eyes. It was hard to stop laughing; all it would take was a snort from Dave to set Alan off, the two of them giggling like schoolboys on Alan’s bed.

“Hold still, will you?” Alan chided him, leaning in as he concentrated on Dave’s right eye with the eyeliner pencil. Dave did as he was told, his heart suddenly racing at Alan’s closeness - Dave could even smell his aftershave. Even this close, Dave couldn’t tell which shade of blue or grey that Alan’s eyes were. Alan had been blessed with very expressive eyes, and they lit up whenever he smiled or laughed, which he did a lot with Dave.

“Think your eyes are done. Less is more, I think,” Alan said, studying him closely. Dave didn’t say a word, drunk on his nearness. He needed to stop staring at Alan like a proper git.

“All we need now is the lipstick and the hair.” Alan tilted his head in consideration as he surveyed the selection of colours, picking a Revlon tube that seemed like a natural shade with a touch of pink. “This okay, you reckon?”

“Yeah.” Dave was a little surprised at how hoarse his voice was. He cleared his throat when Alan quirked an eyebrow at him. “Brilliant, really.”

Seemingly reassured by Dave’s answer, Alan uncapped the tube and dabbed a bit on the back of his hand to test it out. Pleased with his choice, he gently gripped Dave by the chin and tilted his head slightly upwards, the lipstick gliding on Dave’s lips smoothly. Dave had to clench his fists so that he wouldn’t do something stupid like…pull Alan closer or grab him or fuck knows what. He felt intoxicated although he’d only had one cocktail before dinner.

Alan didn’t move away when he was done, his gaze resting on Dave’s mouth. “It looks nice,” Alan said, slowly capping the tube without even looking at it. “You should look in the mirror.”

However, neither of them moved to go fetch the little make-up compact with the mirror in it.

The room phone suddenly rang shrilly, startling the hell out of Dave and shattering the odd, tranquil moment that had been hanging between them. Even Alan, who was often unfazed by most things, looked a little rattled. Dave scrambled over to the phone, picking up the receiver out of habit even though it wasn’t his room. “Yeah?”

“There you bloody are.” Fletch sounded cross. “Mart’s been trying to call your room for ages. Figured you were with Slick.”

“What is it?” Dave didn’t mean to sound so curt, but his pulse was still racing in his ears.

“The German record label’s taking us out for a night on the tiles,” Fletch said. “You lot in?”

“Nah, Al and I have our own plans.” Dave wanted to laugh, imagining Martin’s and Fletch’s reactions if they really knew that he and Alan were up to. “Next time, then.”

“Your loss,” Fletch said airily before he hung up.

“They’re going out too?” Alan asked, referring to Martin and Fletch.

“With the record label people, yeah.” Dave gestured hesitantly at the phone. “If you wanted to go, I could wash my face–”

“And miss your debut? Fuck, no.” Alan was smiling at him. “I can wait until you lose and buy me all the drinks I want.”

Dave scoffed. “I can’t wait to make you eat your words.” He stomped over to the mirror, just to check if Alan had sabotaged his efforts or made him look like a tart on purpose.

To Dave’s surprise, Alan had done quite a brilliant job with the make-up. Dave still looked like himself, but softer and more elegant with dark, wide eyes, smooth fair skin and lips that were just a touch pinker than their usual shade. Dave stared at himself in the mirror. Alan was right: less really was more.

“See?” Alan sounded far too smug. “Not bad, right?”

Dave flipped him off in the mirror. “Don’t gloat, it’s unattractive.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dave could see Alan reaching into the bag for the wig, so Dave knew it was time to get changed into the dress. He took off his tank top and shorts, keeping them in Alan’s wardrobe - he knew Alan wouldn’t mind - and took down the dress, which was hanging in a solitary corner. He slid it on as he did that afternoon, careful not to smudge his make-up. This time the dress looked even better as his briefs did not cause a visible outline, unlike his boxers. He smoothed down any remaining wrinkles, admiring himself in the mirror.

“Here.” Alan was coming over with the wig and some hairpins that the concierge had provided. Placing it gently on top of Dave’s own hair, Alan shifted and arranged it as he felt suitable, sliding in the pins to hold it down. Once Dave felt like the wig was affixed firmly, Alan nodded to himself, his smile softening as he draped the curls over Dave’s shoulder before turning him to face the mirror.

Dave was genuinely speechless. He’d been rather overconfident with drink when he’d insisted to Alan that he could pass for a woman, but he’d thought he might pass for someone a bit more butch or androgynous, perhaps.

But to his shock, the person staring back at him in the mirror was pretty and feminine, the blush deepening in his cheeks only serving to highlight the effect. The dress’ high neckline was meant to flatter women with a smaller bustline, which helped disguise the fact that Dave had none to speak of. Thanks to his height, this meant the emphasis was instead on his now smooth legs, which were the star of the show. His long, wavy hair framed his face, completing the illusion.

Dave goggled at his reflection. This was fucking impossible. Alan was watching him in the mirror, something unreadable in his eyes as he took Dave in.

Then he shook himself out of a daze.

“Fuck, I forgot the shoes.” Alan went to dig into one of his suitcases, fishing out a pair of ballet flats with the tag still on. They were too big to be Jeri’s, so Dave assumed Alan had bought them along with the dresses during his temporary fit of insanity. They both had to be insane, to be even considering this nonsense.

Kneeling at Dave’s feet again, Alan made an ‘up’ motion, so Dave lifted his left foot. Alan slid on the shoe, and Dave had to balance himself by placing a hand on Alan’s shoulder for support. He thought he felt Alan’s muscles stiffen, but he remained where he was, doing the same with Dave’s right foot before tearing the tag off.

The shoes were comfortable, even as they magically made Dave’s feet look impossibly dainty. Alan was looking Dave up and down, a mix of pride and something conflicted on his face. “I’m going to get changed,” he said quietly. Dave only nodded, turning to the wardrobe to fish his wallet and hotel key card out of his shorts. Since the dress had no pockets, Alan could bloody well carry them for him. This whole drag business had been his half-cracked idea in the first place.

Alan was ready in less than ten, taking Dave’s wallet and room key without complaint. “Ready to go, Cinderella?”

“Laugh it up, you twat,” Dave muttered as Alan chuckled, both of them heading for the door. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I win this bloody bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you want some idea of what Dave looks like with a wig, you can [click here](https://violation-for-the-masses.tumblr.com/post/621551339509596161)!)


	3. You should kiss me now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to **Pinksyndicate** for this gorgeous fanart of [Dave and Alan getting ready and putting together his disguise in Chapter 2.](https://pinksyndication.tumblr.com/post/624363028188626944) Dave looks so ridiculously pretty here!

They stopped by a boutique opposite the hotel to get a black silk scarf for Dave, which helped to keep his Adam’s apple hidden. As Alan draped it around Dave’s neck, the salesperson was watching them and smiling indulgently in an ‘aww aren’t you an adorable couple’ way. She said something in German that they didn’t understand, but Alan just smiled and nodded as he paid for the scarf. Then they stepped out to hail a cab to the Reeperbahn.

Their driver didn’t seem to know a lick of English either, so Dave figured it was safe to discuss their modus operandi. “So how are we going to do this?” he asked Alan at a normal volume, dropping his voice to a whisper once he spotted the driver’s startled eyes widening at him in the rear view mirror. Fuck, he’d forgotten that he still sounded like a bloke.

Alan stretched out an arm across the backseat. “I figured we’d hit a few clubs, get some drinks and see what happens,” he suggested.

“How do we determine who wins?” Dave thought this was the most important question. His legs kept sprawling wide out of habit, and he had to keep reminding himself to clamp them shut.

Alan looked thoughtful. “If people leave you alone and nobody suspects a thing, we consider it a win for you,” he said. “And if anyone stares at you suspiciously or asks you questions, it’s a win for me, I guess.”

“Wait, what sort of questions?” Dave narrowed his eyes at Alan. The hemline of his dress kept riding up with every speed bump they went over, and he had to keep tugging it down in frustration, much to Alan’s amusement.

Alan shrugged. “I guess, ‘Are you a bloke?’ is a sure indicator, at least. Or anything that generally sounds suspicious.”

“What if they ask me in German and I don’t understand?”

“I think suspicion is generally universal?” Alan pointed out. “If enough people stare, we’ll know the game is up. Maybe we’ll just play it by ear and see what happens tonight.”

“Fine.” Dave tapped Alan’s knee in warning. “And no running off if you see a prettier bird. You have to stick by my side.”

Alan just smiled at him, reaching out and tucking a stray curl behind Dave’s ear. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”  
  


***  
  


The cab dropped them somewhere at the North Side along one of the side streets, which Dave remembered Fletch nicknaming ‘Gross Free Hell’ the last time they’d passed by because it was smack in the middle of the red light district. Dave stepped out first as Alan paid the driver, glancing at the street sign for the actual name: _Große Freiheit_. The street was teeming with people: tourists, drunk revellers, roving groups of men on their merry way to the brothels. It was warm for mid-May, but there was still a little chill in the open night air. Dave was now glad for his scarf.

Now Alan stood beside him, taking in the lively atmosphere around them. “If at any point, you feel uncomfortable and want to stop, you have to tell me,” he said carefully.

Dave wanted to tell him not to be silly, but he quickly realised his optimism was really just false bravado. “Should we have a code word, then? Or a phrase?” he suggested.

Both of them exchanged a smirk. “Toast Hawaii, ” Dave and Alan said at the same time, cracking up with laughter.

“Brilliant.” Dave was still smiling, adjusting the hem of his dress.

“Great minds and all that.” Alan jerked his head towards the noisier main street. “C’mon then, let’s look for a place and get a drink.”

They entered the Reeperbahn and continued walking down the street, past the arrays of pubs, bars and restaurants. Dave had to be mindful of the way he walked, keenly observing the female half of an American tourist couple in front of them. The woman had a sway to her hips that Dave tried to mimic, her steps smaller and more careful as opposed to his usual loose stride. Alan wasn’t saying a word, but Dave could sense the silent amusement radiating off him in waves.

At one point a loud wolf-whistle pierced the air; Dave was surprised to find it came from a group of burly men at an open-air table, all of them grinning lasciviously at him. One of them shouted out something in German, which made all his friends roar with laughter. Whatever he’d said, Dave hoped that it wasn’t as dirty as it sounded.

“What an arsehole,” Alan said. Dave was on the verge of agreeing, but it would have been hypocritical; he’d yelled similar comments at girls back in Bas when he was a teenager.

“Does it count as me winning the bet?” Dave said with a dry laugh, although it sounded a little hollow.

“You don’t get off that easy.” Alan turned back to look at the rowdy table of German blokes again, seemingly peeved. “Besides, couldn’t he see that we’re together?”

Dave shot him a flat look. “Okay, I’m not taking that bloke’s side, but--” He gestured at the distance between them. Alan was at least two feet away. “If I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, it ain’t obvious.”

Alan frowned at him. “Oh. Then...should we hold hands?”

Dave rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Al. What are we, nuns? We’re on the bloody Reeperbahn, some of these clubs have actual live sex shows on stage. Here--” He took Alan’s hand, yanking him closer and draping his arm around Dave’s waist. They were so close now that Dave could smell Alan’s cologne and the mints he’d chewed on in the cab. “There, that’s more like it.”

Walking together this close was a little awkward at first, but Dave could sense the moment Alan eased into it, falling into rhythm with Dave as his warm hand cupped Dave’s hip with a possessive hold. Dave slid his own arm around Alan’s waist, tucking part of his hand under Alan’s belt. Alan was dressed really nicely tonight; he had on his usual leather jacket over a black sleeveless top and neatly-pressed trousers. He even smelled nice and expensive, like a bloke out on the town to show his girl the time of her life.

They stopped outside a bar playing ‘Lust for Life’, and Alan must have seen the way Dave perked up. “Here then?” he suggested, steering them in when Dave nodded.

The bar was dark and filled with cigarette smoke, the bartenders busy doling out pints by the trayload. There seemed to be an even mix of locals and tourists; Dave could hear snatches of conversations in German, Dutch, English and something vaguely Scandinavian. Bobbing along to the music, Dave waited patiently beside Alan, who ordered for them both. He was eventually handed a rum and coke, but it was extremely strong, at least.

Taking Alan’s hand, Dave led him further into the bar where they found an unoccupied standing table with dirty glasses. A busboy came along shortly to clear it, flashing a bashful smile at Dave who couldn’t help smiling back, feeling rather triumphant. He arched an eyebrow at Alan, as if to say, _See?_ Alan only shook his head in amusement. He seemed determined to draw out Dave’s suffering.

Dave accepted the cigarette Alan offered him, their faces drawing close as Alan leaned in with his lighter, his eyes flitting between Dave’s eyes and mouth. Once the cigarette was lit, Dave nodded in thanks, taking a deep drag as he brushed his new curls over his shoulder. Having long hair was a nice novelty that he’d considered at times; now he might actually try it out in the future, despite whatever Jo said about it making him look unkempt.

The music had changed to something by Aerosmith, and Alan finished his pint. “I’m going to use the facilities,” he said loudly, at which Dave nodded. He shook out a second cigarette from Alan’s pack, putting it between his lips before he remembered he didn’t have a lighter.

Then one appeared in front of him, the flame flickering into life. “ _Guten Abend_ ,” a blond giant of a man said, gesturing towards Dave’s cigarette. Dave accepted the light with a small smile, casting his eyes downwards coyly like he’d seen some girls do. He didn’t think it was wise to speak much, lest his voice give him away.

“ _Woher kommen Sie?_ ” the man asked. He had ridiculously sharp cheekbones and eyes that were obviously blue even in the dark lighting of the bar. Funnily enough, he was the tall and handsome sort of Adonis that Dave would have tried to get into a brawl with, back in school.

When the man saw Dave’s uncomprehending expression, he switched to flawless albeit accented English. “Are you American?” he asked, eyes dipping down to glance at Dave’s legs.

“No, from the UK,” Dave said in what he hoped was a higher, believable pitch. If the bloke seemed suspicious, he didn’t give any indication whatsoever.

“I’m Jan,” the man said, holding out his hand.

Shit, Dave had to think of a name quickly. “I’m Martina,” he said, sending a silent apology to Mart, wherever he was.

“Your name is beautiful.” Jan kissed Dave’s hand, making his skin crawl. “Like you.”

Dave quickly wrenched his hand back. “I have a boyfriend.”

Jan shrugged, flashing Dave a sleazy smile. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Then you need glasses,” Alan’s polite but no-nonsense voice came from behind them. A relieved Dave was never so glad to see him. “Can I help you?”

Jan merely gave Alan a disdainful once-over, as if sizing up his competition. “No, I don’t think so.”

Sensing that this bloke wasn’t going to piss off anytime soon, Dave shifted closer to Alan, pressing their bodies together as he wrapped his arms snugly around Alan’s waist. He rested his head on Alan’s shoulder, sighing in pleasure as Alan pulled Dave close to him to stand between his legs. “Would you mind, then?” Alan said, stroking Dave’s hair.

After glaring at Alan for a good long moment, Jan told Dave: “If you get tired of him, I’m near the pool table at the back.” Winking at Dave, Jan tucked his lighter into his pocket before heading towards somewhere at the rear of the bar. Even when he returned to his table, he was still watching them, a vaguely unsatisfied expression on his face.

“That tosser still looking?” Alan asked, because his back was turned towards Jan.

“Think he is.” Dave was too comfortable to move from where he was, Alan’s body warm and firm against his own. “Let’s just wait a while, yeah?”

To Dave’s relief, Alan nodded, his hands still stroking through Dave’s curls.  
  


***  
  


Dave didn’t really want to leave the bar, but it was purely for his own selfish reasons. Alan’s arms were warm and firm around him, and he seemed content to just stand here and keep holding Dave, shielding him from the noise and bustle of the crowd. Alan ordered them more drinks from a passing barmaid, and Dave watched him take a pull of his second pint, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. A wild impulse struck Dave, making him want to put his lips there, on Alan’s pale and inviting throat. Just to see what it was like.

"He still there?” he heard Alan ask.

Dave didn’t even bother to look. “Think so,” he mumbled against Alan’s shoulder.

“Ah, well.” Alan sounded strangely cheerful about their predicament. “We’ll go somewhere else after this round, yeah?”

Nodding, Dave finally lifted his head, brushing his hair aside to drape it over his shoulder as he sipped his own rum and coke, pink lips pursed around the little straw. Alan was watching him with an inscrutable expression, his fingers brushing against the condensation of his beer. His other hand felt warm and protective on the small of Dave’s back; if it slid downwards by a few inches, it’d be resting on Dave’s bum. Dave tried not to think too much about it.

Once they were done with their drinks and paid the bill, Alan turned towards the exit. As if by instinct, he held out a hand to Dave, who took it and let Alan lead them out of the smoky bar and onto the noisy street again. “Where to next?” Alan asked. Although they were already outside, he still hadn’t let go of Dave’s hand.

“Let’s walk and see,” Dave suggested, wanting somewhere a little darker and noisier where he could dance and talk without worrying about anyone overhearing him. Alan nodded; this time, it was him who pulled Dave closer, hooking his arm around Dave’s waist.

They were now further down the Reeperbahn, where the touristy bars and restaurants were starting to peter out and give way to clubs with lurid German names and neon lights, long queues outside most of them. Dave caught quite a few girls staring at Alan, then leveling envious glares at him in turn. He wanted to laugh at the idea that they wouldn’t be so jealous if they knew exactly who Dave was.

Dave blinked a little. He hadn’t thought of the bet in a while. But surely things seemed to be working in his favour? No one had stared suspiciously at him (aside from their taxi driver, but that was really Dave’s own fault) and no one had asked him any odd questions so far.

“How about here?” Alan pointed at one of the more popular clubs with a longer queue. What little they could hear of the music from the entrance seemed to have a darker undertone, which Dave knew was Alan’s thing.

“Yeah, why not?” Dave said with a shrug, so they got in line. However, they didn’t have to wait long; Dave was surprised when the bouncer beckoned for him and Alan to come forward, lifting the velvet rope for them and causing a wave of disgruntled complaints from the other patrons in the queue.

Once they got their hands stamped in the little lobby, Dave turned to Alan. “Did he recognise you?”

Alan’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Oh, he didn’t even look at me. It was all you, Martina.”

They both couldn’t stop chuckling. “First name I could think of,” Dave admitted, as Alan checked his jacket with an attendant, taking a number in turn.

“Always knew you secretly lusted after Mart,” Alan said with a heavy sigh. “What do I have to do to get your attention, eh?”

Dave shot him a coquettish wink as they headed for the doorway. “You always had my attention, Charlie.”

Because he was a coward, Dave didn’t even wait for Alan to respond before grabbing his hand and yanking him through the main doorway. The crowded dance floor was bathed in blue and white lights, converging on a DJ who was spinning on a raised platform. House music was booming through the club, the bass reverberating through Dave’s body and making him feel like he just wanted to dive into the teeming mass of people on the dance floor.

They found a nice spot between the bar and the DJ platform which wasn’t that crowded. A female staff member all dressed in black leather came up to them and asked something loudly in German. Alan pointed at someone nearby who was drinking a vodka tonic, then held up two fingers. She nodded and disappeared, returning rather quickly with their drinks. Dave frowned at Alan and pointed at his own wallet in Alan’s right pocket, meaning that he should get this round. Alan had been paying for them both the whole night, and it was starting to feel too much like a traditional date for a bloke and his girl.

Once the waitress left, they clinked their glasses together and drank deeply. Dave desperately needed the alcohol; this whole bet was starting to shift and blur any boundaries between him and Alan, and it left Dave wanting very strange and impossible things from his very straight bandmate and friend.

The music was really good, so Dave left his drink on a nearby ledge and tried to put himself in the same headspace he occupied when he was on stage: he shut his eyes, imagining everyone watching him glide and shimmy and spin across the stage and screaming for him, screaming for the band. It wasn’t their music in his ears, but he lost himself in it all the same, his hips swaying to the beat, his hands trailing up and down his body before they reached out and landed on Alan’s shoulders.

Dave opened his eyes.

Alan was watching him with that unreadable expression again, the one Dave had caught in the mirror after Alan had fixed the wig on him. His gaze was dark and a little hungry, which Dave recognised from occasions in the past when they’d been having post-gig drinks in either of their hotel rooms, and Alan would look at him like this sometimes whenever Dave had said something particularly funny. At the time he’d brushed it off to Alan being drunk. But right now? He knew Alan’s legendary liver could withstand more than three measly drinks.

They danced together for a few more songs, and Dave was on his fourth drink when he realised he had to use the restrooms. He shouted this in Alan’s ear, which for some reason made Alan smile mischievously. He didn’t figure out why until he reached the lavatories, about to head into the men’s when a staff member shouted something to him in German, waving frantically and pointing out the ladies’ instead.

Fuck, he would need to use the female toilet.

Praying that no one would notice him or chase him out, he quickly dashed into the other restroom, which was filled with a line of women applying make-up at the mirrors and fixing their hair. None of them even batted an eyelid at him, except for one blonde bird who gave him a catty glare before her eyes dropped down to his short dress. Dave wanted to laugh; in another lifetime, he probably would have fallen over himself to chat her up on the dance-floor.

Ducking into a stall, he lifted the seat and hiked up his dress, supremely uncomfortable as he did his business, praying no one would notice his feet were facing backwards. Fortunately, nothing happened. He flushed when he was done, relieved that German people generally seemed to mind their own business.

Washing his hands, he took the opportunity to examine himself in the mirror. He still couldn’t get over how convincing his get-up was. All he needed to complete the illusion was perhaps a padded bra, but maybe that was going too far. Alan didn’t seem to mind, and neither did Jan nor the other blokes who were mentally undressing him with their eyes the whole night. God, was this what it was like for women whenever they went clubbing? Dave was thankful Alan had done as he promised and stuck by his side.

After tidying his hair and wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick, Dave headed out onto the dance-floor again, strangely proud that he hadn’t been discovered. Alan was waiting for him, smirking when he saw Dave returning unscathed. “Anyone scream?” he said loudly in Dave’s ear.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bastard,” Dave retorted, which made Alan laugh.

They lost track of time, drinking and dancing, and Dave pretended it was the alcohol that was making him dance close to Alan, his fingers trailing up and down Alan’s exposed biceps. They were just putting on a show for everyone, to prove that they were a couple, that was all.

Dave was laughing at something Alan had said when he thought he overheard Martin’s unmistakable machine-gun giggle. Turning to glance around the dance-floor, his heart jumped when he spotted a very familiar pile of blond curls bobbing among the crowd, followed by Fletch looming behind, taller than even the German group with them. Dave’s first instinct was that he had to grab Alan and pull him towards the back exit before either Mart or Fletch saw them.

But it was too late to go hide. It seemed Fletch had already spotted Alan, pointing him out to Martin before the two of them were making their way over.

Dave was panicking. "Al, you should kiss me now," he said urgently.

Alan only hesitated for the briefest moment before leaning in and bridging the gap between their mouths, the warm press of his lips sending a jolt right through Dave. Then Alan tilted his head, his tongue sliding sensuously into Dave's mouth and doing something wickedly wonderful that made Dave melt in his arms, desire pooling in his belly. Dave forgot all about Martin and Fletch and the German record label people, kissing Alan back and running his hands through Alan’s hair. Alan’s hands landed on his waist, firm and possessive.

They kissed and kissed until they pulled apart for air, Alan blinking in a daze while Dave fought to catch his breath. To his relief, he could see Martin and Fletch already headed towards the exit, laughing at something. When Alan followed Dave’s gaze, Fletch flashed an encouraging thumbs-up at Alan, Martin joining in with a ‘go on’ gesture before they left. As Dave had anticipated, they had assumed Alan was on a date and hadn’t wanted to interrupt.

“Oh.” Realisation was dawning on Alan’s face. “So that’s why--”

“I didn’t have time to explain,” Dave said.

Alan just nodded, not looking at Dave. “I’ll go get us more drinks,” he simply said, heading towards the bar before Dave could say anything.  
  
  
  



	4. Think you’ve won the bet, fair and square

When Alan came back with the drinks, his expression had reverted to that polite, distant look Dave knew he only employed whenever he was suffering through a photo-shoot or interview and he would much rather be someplace else. He handed Dave a glass of house red, avoiding Dave’s eyes as he sipped his own vodka tonic. Earlier his lips had been smudged with traces of Dave’s lipstick, but he must have wiped it all off at the bar with a napkin or something. Dave had no idea why he felt a ridiculous pang of loss at this thought.

Dave himself had to take a moment to make sense of what had just happened, his head spinning in confusion. Alan had barely hesitated when Dave had asked him for the kiss, and it had felt shockingly real and intimate, Alan’s lips warm and firm against his own. In fact, Dave wanted to do it again and again, tonguing the curve of Alan’s lower lip before tugging it down with his teeth and sucking on it, just to hear Alan gasp into his mouth. He wanted to back Alan up against the wall and just...plunder his mouth.

Then Dave felt like an utter idiot.

Why couldn’t he? The fact that Alan had willingly kissed him, with so little persuasion, meant that Alan was definitely on board with whatever was going on between them. Hence Dave had to act quickly, before Alan further retreated behind his usual mask of polite indifference.

Dave took Alan’s drink from him and set it down, then gripped his puzzled friend’s arm. “Come with me,” he said loudly, tilting his head towards the back exit.

“Our drinks--” Alan protested.

“For fuck’s sake, Al, I’ll get us new ones. C’mon.” Dave did his best to look cross, although with his current disguise, he might have just ended up looking more pouty than angry. Judging from the way Alan’s mouth was twitching in amusement, that was most probably the case.

Dave dragged him to where the lavatories were, looking for the door further down that led to the fire exit. A bored-looking bouncer was guarding the door, but he only raised an eyebrow as Dave flashed him a sweet smile before pushing the door open. The bloke didn’t stop him; he must have assumed that Dave and Alan were going outside to find a nearby alley for a quick shag.

There were some staff sitting outside the back exit on upturned beer crates, smoking viciously and complaining in German. Dave just dragged a confused Alan past them, further down another side alley behind a closed restaurant where it was quieter and darker. At least they were alone here. Thankfully, the night was still warm enough for them to stand outside without jackets.

Leaning against the wall, Alan arched an eyebrow at Dave. “What’s going on?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. Alan had such nice arms; Dave privately thanked the inventor of sleeveless button-downs for their contribution to society.

Dave stepped forward, closing the distance between him and a suddenly wary Alan. “I wanted you to kiss me earlier,” Dave said bluntly, placing a hand on either side of Alan to trap him against the wall.

Alan’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yeah I know, you asked me to,” he said a little sullenly. “Because of Mart and Fletch.”

Dave shook his head, holding Alan’s gaze. “No mate, you’re not listening. I wanted you to kiss me. Even before Mart and Andy came along.”

He could see the exact moment everything clicked in Alan’s head, his eyes widening in realisation. “Oh,” Alan said, licking his lips and leaving them moist. Now his breathing was a little harsher, his gaze dropping to Dave’s mouth.

Dave took his own sweet time to study Alan’s face. Alan had very soft, plush lips for a man, and now that Dave knew what they tasted and felt like, one couldn’t blame him for getting addicted. Suddenly Dave was driven with the possessive need to leave his lipstick smudged all over Alan’s mouth again.

“Idiot,” Dave said fondly, before leaning in and capturing Alan’s lips in a kiss far deeper than the one they’d shared in the club.

In turn, Alan was reaching under Dave’s curls and wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to drag him closer, their bodies pressed together from chest to hip. Dave moaned into the kiss, raking his fingers through Alan’s gelled hair and tightening his grip on it just to hear Alan gasp. He laughed when Alan did just that, nipping at Alan’s half-open mouth so he could start sucking on the tip of Alan’s tongue. Fuck, Alan tasted wonderful.

They continued trading kisses that were increasingly getting filthier and dirtier, to the point where Dave was harder than he could ever remember being. He inexplicably wanted to spread his legs and guide Alan's hand there, the smooth, slinky fabric of the dress making him feel especially indecent, like he wanted Alan’s long elegant fingers to lift his skirt, to rip it off him entirely.

Alan was the first to pull away for breath, licking Dave’s lipstick off his teeth. His hair was mussed, the grey-blue of his irises now merely a thin ring around his blown pupils. He looked wild and dangerous and debauched, like he was a step away from tossing Dave over his shoulder and dragging him back to the hotel to finish what all those kisses had promised.

“All right?” a panting Dave asked, cupping Alan’s face. Alan only nodded, reaching out to brush Dave’s curls away from his face. He had that impassive look on his face again that he was so good at hiding behind, but there was no dimming the brightness of his eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go back to the club for another drink, then we’ll take a taxi to the hotel.” Alan was still combing his fingers through the waves of Dave’s hair. “Think you’ve won the bet, fair and square.”

Dave’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? Right now?”

“Yeah, why not?” a confused Alan asked.

"I've got a _problem_ , alright?" Dave hissed, jerking his head downwards. "Once people see this, I'm not winning any bloody bets."

Alan followed his gaze. "Oh. Okay, don't worry. We'll just wait here until your, er, problem goes away."

But it _didn't_ go away, as the main cause of the problem - Alan - was standing so close to him, his warm palm tracing the curve of Dave’s spine. Dave took a deep breath to calm himself, but all he got was a whiff of Alan's cologne and scent, which made the issue even worse.

"Sorry, mate." Dave tried to keep his tone nonchalant, even though his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. "It's just been a while since--"

"No, I understand," Alan said. For some reason he didn't seem put off or disgusted with the situation. In fact, he was leaning in closer, his hip pressing against Dave's thigh. He was probably trying to be a good friend and calm Dave's 'problem', but it had the opposite effect, causing all the remaining blood in Dave's body to rush south, fuelling his erection even more. Dave buried his face in Alan's neck, smelling his skin with a soft groan. He was so hard he felt like he was going to explode any minute.

"There's another way to get rid of your, er, situation," he heard Alan say softly.

Dave lifted his head to stare at Alan. "Are you suggesting I go have a wank in the bathroom?" he blurted out.

Alan laughed. "Well no, not necessarily." Then he shifted his hips so that they were pressed together from chest to pelvis, and Dave let out a small gasp when he felt Alan's own erection digging into his thigh.

Dave didn't quite know how to process this whole new situation. It was one thing to drunkenly snog your best mate (even though Dave wasn't really that drunk) and feel him up, but it was quite another to have undeniable proof of just how much he had turned Alan on. Dave had never touched another bloke like this in his life, and he was sure Alan hadn't either. But anyone with a basic knowledge of sex and biology would know how to make a persistent erection go away.

The thought of it - the prospect of touching such an intimate part of Alan for real - both scared and thrilled Dave. "Liked the sight of me in a dress a little bit too much, did you?" Dave said with a breathless laugh, content to take refuge in humour as he always did.

Alan cleared his throat. "I haven't been able to stop looking all evening," he admitted, eyes travelling down Dave's body.

That admission shook Dave to the core. He was aware that Alan had been watching him all evening, but he had thought it was because Alan found it all a bit too strange to watch his friend walk around in the guise of a woman. But to have actual confirmation that Alan couldn’t take his eyes off Dave because Alan was drawn to him? It made Dave feel as though electricity was buzzing under his skin and surging through his veins, much like the way he felt on stage. Here, he was performing for Alan, and Alan alone.

And Alan was a very appreciative audience, judging from the way his eyes were slowly roving up and down Dave from head to toe.

Dave forced himself to stop and think, refusing to get distracted by Alan’s maddening, wandering hands. Okay, so: they were both turned on. And Dave was 85% sure Alan had offered to get him off, as it were. Never mind that they were both probably clueless when it came to sex with other blokes. Dave hadn’t even realised he’d been interested in other men until one Alan Wilder had walked into that audition room all those years ago and made him sit up, his body’s signals all pinging in confusion. At that time, he hadn’t recognised it for what it was: attraction.

However, Dave realised he didn’t feel this way about any other blokes - not Mart, not Bowie, not even that good-looking bassist twat out of Duran Duran who always eclipsed them in all the magazines. Dave was attracted to only Alan, and it wasn’t just for his looks. It was his razor-sharp sense of humour, his unflappable self-confidence and admirable work ethic, his willingness to drop everything for Dave if he needed Alan.

“Second thoughts?” Alan sounded very placid and laid back, like he’d back off and let Dave be if he couldn’t absorb the enormity of what Alan was offering. But Dave knew better. Any refusal on Dave’s end would permanently shut this door between them. Alan was very much the once bitten, twice shy kind of bloke.

Besides, why would Dave ever want to refuse?

He leaned in, gently brushing his lips against Alan’s. “None at all,” Dave told him, watching as Alan was subconsciously tilting forward, trying his damnedest to catch Dave’s mouth. But Dave teasingly stayed out of range for a kiss, grinning as he took Alan’s wrist and tugged his hand down, slipping it under the hem of Dave’s dress.

Both of them were breathing harshly by the time Alan’s fingers landed on the waistband of Dave’s briefs, his erection already straining against the fabric as if to seek out Alan’s touch.

Alan’s hand hovered there, uncertainty creasing his brow. “I’ve not done anything with a man before--”

“Neither have I.” Dave wrapped his arms around Alan’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

This time Alan nodded, visibly reassured as he continued. Dave could feel Alan’s fingertips slipping under the fabric, feeling his way in and growing bolder as Dave murmured in approval against his mouth, whispering, “Come on, Al, need you to touch me--”

Alan let out a loud whoosh of breath as his hand finally slid into Dave’s briefs, wrapping firmly around his shaft and making Dave’s eyes roll back in pleasure. “Oh, fuck.”

“You’re so-- you feel hot.” Alan sounded stunned stupid, adjusting his grip around Dave’s cock. Dave moaned encouragingly, bucking into Alan’s hand. “Is this--”

“Fuck, yes.” Dave grabbed his chin and kissed Alan, tongue sliding in eagerly to taste him as Alan stumbled back, the two of them slamming against the wall. Then Alan quickly got with the program and began kissing Dave back, his hand moving clumsily up and down Dave’s pulsing erection.

Dave could feel the exact moment Alan stopped worrying about doing it ‘right’ and just concentrated on Dave’s pleasure, his grip tightening and picking up speed. Unfortunately they didn’t have lube or anything slick on hand, but Alan solved that problem by retracting his hand, laughing when Dave made an angry noise of protest at the loss of pleasure. Then Alan held Dave’s gaze as he slowly, deliberately licked his palm.

His saliva-slick hand dived under Dave’s dress and into his underwear again, gripping his cock and stroking him much quicker and surer this time. “Come on,” Alan whispered, pecking at Dave’s lips. “Come all over my hand, I want to feel you.”

Dave had already been close when they’d been making out earlier, but Alan’s words just ramped up the heat coursing through his body. Dave buried his nose in Alan’s neck, taking a deep whiff of his scent before he leaned up and nipped at Alan’s earlobe with a low growl, thrusting blindly into Alan’s hand. Pleasure overtook him, spurting all over Alan’s fingers as he gasped against Alan’s cheek.

They were both panting madly, Alan’s own erection still burning a line against Dave’s thigh.

Once he’d somehow managed to get part of his brain working again, Dave’s hand was moving towards Alan’s zipper when Alan stopped him, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”

Dave was indignant. “What? But you--”

“I’m fine,” Alan repeated, before he broke into a grin. “At the hotel, maybe. My trousers are loose, they don’t give much away.”

This was true. After giving Alan a stern look, Dave relented - but only because this meant he’d have the chance later to maul Alan in a real bed, maybe. They traded a few slower, languid kisses, at least until Alan shivered. The wind was starting to pick up a little. “I should go fetch my jacket, I guess,” he said a little reluctantly.

Dave nodded, rubbing Alan’s arms for warmth. His underwear was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, but he could bear with it for the short duration of the cab ride back. Alan was now looking at his sticky hand in uncertainty, so Dave sighed and grabbed it, wiping it clean on the inside of the dress.

“That dress cost me quite a few quid, you know.” Alan seemed more amused than angry as he watched Dave clean his hand.

“That’s what hotel laundry services are for.” Dave gave him one last peck on the lips. “C’mon, let’s sneak in again and get your jacket before we head back.”  
  


***  
  


Luckily the bouncer at the back door remembered them. Or rather, at least he’d remembered Dave, judging from the way he smirked at them when Dave pretended to limp a little. Alan’s self-satisfied grin and dishevelled hair helped to complete the picture.

As Alan went to wash his hands, Dave checked his hair and make-up in the ladies’ room. His lipstick had almost entirely rubbed off, and his eyeliner was a little smudged. He fixed the wig as best as he could, a little sorry that he would have to take it off once they were back at the hotel. It had actually felt very nice to have Alan running his fingers through it all night.

When they collected Alan’s jacket and stepped out of the club to hail a taxi, Alan surprised Dave by draping the jacket over his shoulders instead of wearing it himself. “Aren’t you cold?” Dave gestured at his exposed arms.

Alan shrugged. “Short ride back, right?”

Plenty of cabs were trawling for customers up and down the Reeperbahn, so they easily got into one very quickly. In the backseat, Dave leaned against Alan, resting his head on his shoulder as Alan’s hand hovered on his thigh, near the wet spot where Dave had wiped his hand earlier.

When they were back at the hotel, there were thankfully no fans waiting outside the doors, or inside the reception. Dave didn’t even know what they would do if someone recognised him, wig or no wig - their fans had sharp eyes. So it was a relief to quickly march through the lobby undisturbed, Alan’s arm tightly wrapped around Dave’s waist. The hotel staff merely nodded at them with barely a glance at Dave, professional and unintrusive.

Once they were in the lift, Dave fully expected Alan to drop his arm. But Alan’s hold around his waist only tightened, as if to make sure to keep Dave close to him. Dave smiled, and in the lift’s mirrored doors, Alan smiled back at him.  
  


***  
  


By unspoken agreement, they’d gone back to Alan’s room. Everything was exactly where they’d left it, various tubes of lipstick and eyeshadow palettes strewn all over Alan’s dressing table, the shaving implements still left abandoned beside the tub. It was a testament to how distracted Alan must have been earlier; Dave knew he normally would have cleared everything away neatly before leaving.

Then again, Dave couldn’t quite blame him. It’d been a really strange but illuminating evening.

Alan helped him with the wig first, sliding out the hairpins before taking it off Dave’s head. Dave couldn’t help the sigh of relief. It had been fun, having long hair, but it was starting to get a bit hot and itchy as well. Alan also unzipped the dress for him, and they dropped it into the bag designated for hotel laundry. Once Dave was just in his briefs, he hooked an arm around Alan’s neck and dragged him closer, kissing him with a low sigh. Alan hummed in approval, a hand slipping into Dave’s underwear to squeeze his bum. Dave could probably get hard again in a while or so, but Alan obviously wasn’t having a problem with that now.

Dave broke off the kiss, much to Alan’s obvious displeasure which made him chuckle. “Lie down on the bed,” he told Alan.

“Why?”

“I’d like to get my mouth on you, if you don’t mind,” Dave said with a grin. He laughed outright when Alan immediately started shedding his clothes, leaving them in a neat pile before bouncing on top of the mattress, naked and smiling devilishly at Dave.

It was impossible to resist the siren call of a naked Alan in bed. Dave immediately climbed on top of Alan, kissing him deeply like he’d wanted to the whole night - and for a really long time now, if he were being honest with himself. Making out with Alan was completely unlike being with a woman; Alan’s body was firm and unmistakably masculine, from the scattering of hair on his chest down to the strong, muscled legs tangling with Dave’s own. And fuck, the way Alan kissed him, sure and possessive, like he was trying to shove that clever tongue right down Dave’s throat.

And the biggest reminder that Alan was a man was pressing pointedly against Dave’s hip, leaving a sticky trail of pre-come all over his skin. Alan was already so wet, and he sighed when Dave reached down and brushed his thumb over the head of Alan’s cock, smearing the wetness gathered there. “Fuck, Dave.”

Dave held his gaze as he raised his hand to his mouth, licking Alan off his thumb and watching Alan’s pupils dilate. “You taste good,” Dave whispered, before leaning down and slipping his tongue into Alan’s slack mouth.

When they broke apart for breath, Alan was panting now, high spots of colour in his cheeks. _Not so indifferent now, are you?_ Dave thought smugly, nipping at Alan’s lips. “I want to suck your cock,” Dave told him with a grin, as Alan’s nostrils flared. “But be nice, it’s my first go.”

“I’m always nice,” Alan deadpanned, before they shared a wry glance and dissolved into laughter together. Dave pretended to cuff him on the ear before licking the shell, making Alan shiver as Dave travelled down his body, taking in Alan’s scent of sweat and faded cologne.

However, he had no idea what to do or how to react now that he was finally face to face with Alan’s erection. Alan was slightly longer than him, although Dave was thicker, and the head of his cock had a nice shape. Dave experimentally licked off the fluid on the tip of it, which made Alan almost kick him off the bed. “What the fuck, Al?” Dave demanded, steadying himself on the mattress.

“Sorry, sorry.” Alan seemed torn between watching Dave and flinging his arm over his eyes. “Er, proceed.”

All right, it seemed that Alan was especially sensitive there. Dave made a mental note of it, kissing the tip of Alan’s penis before experimentally wrapping his lips around the head.

Alan was moaning like he’d been drugged, fingers clawed in the bedsheets. Dave was getting a huge thrill of seeing Alan - always so restrained, always so cool - lose his mind like this in bed. And Dave hadn’t even tried to take him in fully yet. Eyeing Alan’s length and gauging it with his hand, he didn’t think he’d be able to fit all of Alan in his mouth. But he could damn well try his best.

Trying to remember all the times he’d gotten blowjobs from various women, Dave loosened his jaw and slid his mouth down a few inches, praying Alan wouldn’t buck him off the bed. He had no idea what he was doing, but Alan was groaning with such approval, eyes shut in utter bliss. Encouraged by Alan’s extremely appreciative reactions, Dave tried to bob his head up and down a bit, supporting himself by planting a hand on Alan’s thigh while the other curled around the shaft a little uncertainly to cover where Dave’s mouth couldn’t quite reach.

Alan was still leaking pre-come like crazy, enough that Dave had to wipe his mouth with the back of a hand. “Wow, Al.” Dave was a little in awe; he’d imagined all sorts of lurid fantasies with Alan, but no amount of fantasizing on the tour bus could have prepared him for the reality of having Alan laid out in front of him like this, his taste a little salty and bitter on Dave’s tongue.

“Come here,” Alan himself sounded wrecked. Dave quickly crawled up his body, their mouths meeting again in an urgent clash of lips and tongues. They were rutting together messily now, Dave’s almost fully hard erection rubbing against Alan’s stomach while Alan’s cock was bumping against Dave’s hip. Suddenly Alan came with a silent cry as Dave nipped at his jaw, and it took Dave just a few more thrusts in the slickness created by Alan’s semen before he buried his face in Alan’s neck, both of them panting as though they’d just run a race.

Dave was normally really relaxed and a little sleepy after a good orgasm. Fuck, he’d had two now, almost in a row. So he didn’t know why his mind was racing, his heart still hammering in his chest. He was trying to decide whether to risk a glance at Alan's face or not, afraid of what he would find there. What if Alan regretted this? What if this really was just a silly bet they’d taken too far because of alcohol and God knows what else?

“Ooof.” Alan sounded normal enough as he rolled over, nudging Dave in the ribs. “I don’t know about you, but-- I desperately need a shower.”

“Oh.” Dave didn’t know what to say. Was Alan trying to get rid of him? “Should I go back to my room, then?”

“What?” Alan gave him a look that could only be described as the non-verbal equivalent of ‘puh-lease’. “Don’t be silly, there’s plenty of hot water here.” His mouth crooked up in amusement again. “Unless you want the hotel staff to catch you sneaking back in your briefs? Or worse, Mart and Fletch?”

“God, no.” Dave happily got up and followed Alan to the bathroom, deciding not to mention that he had clothes stashed in Alan’s wardrobe. After all, there was no point looking a gift horse in the mouth.  
  


***  
  


Dave woke up before Alan did. They’d forgotten to draw the curtains before passing out in bed last night, and it was already starting to get light outside. Alan had his head buried under the pillow, his towel dried hair sticking up in spikes from underneath. His t-shirt was rucked up so his belly was exposed, and Dave watched the soft rise and fall of his stomach for a while.

The very real panic he’d felt in the alley outside the club came back with a vengeance. Alan was his friend, his male best friend, his bandmate and colleague. It was true, he’d been attracted to Alan for quite a while now, but he’d always resigned himself to letting it simmer below the surface, unwilling to recognise it and give it a name. Then this stupid bet had come along and blown everything out of the water, setting things in motion that Dave didn’t know how to handle.

He rolled over in bed, adjusting his shorts thoughtfully. Even now, after the wig and the dress and the make-up were gone, he still wanted Alan with a longing that both thrilled and depressed him.

Sitting up, Dave quietly got out and wrote a quick note on the hotel writing pad, letting Alan know he’d gone back to his room first to pack since they were leaving Hamburg right after the gig tonight. It was a valid enough excuse. Whenever one of them had crashed in the other’s room after a drunken night of partying, it wasn’t abnormal to wake up and find the other one gone. Dave had done it to Alan plenty of times before, and vice versa. It was what mates did.

So he didn’t know why he still felt riddled with guilt as he snuck out of Alan’s room and back to his own.  
  


***  
  


Martin and Fletch were already at the hotel restaurant, helping themselves to the breakfast buffet and looking as hungover as Dave felt. Martin was peering at a German newspaper and nibbling on a pastry, while Fletch was diving into some combination of potatoes and sausages with gusto. They nodded when they saw Dave. “How was last night with the record people?” he asked them, taking a seat opposite Fletch.

“Brilliant,” Fletch told him with his mouth full, which made Martin wrinkle his nose. “You and Al missed out.”

“We saw him with some bird, though,” Martin said, failing to notice Dave’s blush as he nudged Fletch with a frown. “It was at-- um, what was that club again?”

“Something with a weird name. Ballsack or wotsit,” Fletch suggested, making Martin let out a sharp bark of laughter.

“Baalsaal, yeah.” An amused Martin turned back to Dave. “Where were you? We didn’t see you.”

Dave was thankful for the timely hotel staff who served him a double espresso, so that he could hide his face behind the cup. “Dunno, probably dancing.”

“Al’s date last night was pretty,” Fletch commented, shoving more food into his mouth.

Martin flipped over to the next page of the newspaper. “Thought you said you couldn’t see her face.”

“Saw a bit. It was her arse that stole the show, though.” Fletch sighed, as Dave almost spat out his espresso. “How does Slick get all the pretty ones?”

“Speaking of whom--” Martin gestured with his chin, the three of them turning to watch Alan crossing the lobby, his video-camera bag hoisted on his shoulder. Dave took advantage of the diversion to clear his throat, downing a glass of water as Alan joined them at the table. He didn’t look at Dave.

“Got lucky last night, did you?” Fletch grinned at him with a wink. “You’re welcome, by the way, for us making ourselves scarce.”

Alan simply seemed amused. “Why are we talking about this?”

“It’s better than Andy talking about your date’s beautiful arse,” a bored Martin said, flipping to the comics.

Alan’s lips twitched up slyly. “She did have a fantastic bum.” Now Alan turned to Dave, evil pouring off him in waves. “What did you think, Dave? You met her.”

Dave felt like his face was on fire; he didn’t know whether he wanted to wipe the smirk off Alan’s face with a punch or a kiss. “I think you lot are all cracked,” he said, as the rest chuckled.

“You two had a great time too, then?” Alan said to Mart and Fletch, and Dave really had to admire the smooth way Alan gracefully changed the subject. Martin and Fletch were now engrossed in telling them about their night out, Alan nodding along as he sipped his cup of tea while Dave poked at a piece of toast. The animated conversation died with the arrival of a cheery Daryl, armed with their hectic schedule for the day. Radio interviews, then a few telly appearances before a rushed soundcheck and a meet-and-greet with some VIPs. Then there was the big show, of course, after which they had to board the bus for West Berlin. Dave already felt tired.

Gobbling up the last of their breakfast and tea, Dave stopped to sign an autograph for the starry-eyed waiter as the rest made their way to the waiting tour bus. It was only when he looked up that he realised Alan was waiting for him at the doorway, a little smile playing about his lips. “Did you hear about my date last night with the great arse?” he said, as Dave caught up with him.

“Wait until you hear about my date, who _is_ a great arse,” Dave muttered, although he admittedly felt relieved as Alan laughed. Maybe things would be normal between them again.


	5. Buying these for your girlfriend?

It was a good thing that the four of them had managed to get some rest in Hamburg, because they had to hit the ground running once they reached West Berlin. There were no end of media outlets that wanted them for promos, so Fletch had drawn up a complicated schedule that had him and Martin fielding the radio and press slots while Dave and Alan had to take on the bulk of the TV interviews.

Then they were all rushed to the Waldbühne for their soundcheck. Of course it was delayed by some faults in the electrical wiring, so Daryl had to run out and get sandwiches for them before Fletch punched someone due to low blood sugar. The weather was actually quite lovely, so Dave decided to eat his lunch on stage, sitting on the edge and swinging his legs, watching the audio technicians scrambling to fix the wiring problem. It wasn’t long before Alan came to join him, bringing them both cold bottles of German beer.

They talked and joked and playfully shoved at each other. Very much business as usual, except that Dave couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Alan again.

He thought about it throughout the soundcheck, and he thought about it during the gig, which had one of the biggest audiences they’d ever seen. During ‘A Question of Time’, he’d spun around with the mic stand before waggling his arse at Alan, who’d smiled back in turn as screams rose from the crowd.

At the end of their second encore, Dave had found himself backstage, mopping his face with a towel and feeling a little bereft for some reason. He thought about waiting for Alan to come offstage so they could walk to the dressing rooms together, but both Daryl and Franksy seemed to be in a great big hurry to sweep all of them off to the bus so they could head back to the hotel and get ready for an after-party with some of West Berlin’s biggest music bigwigs.

Normally Dave would be itching for the opportunity to get properly drunk on the record label's dime and scout out the talent at the after-party - there were always some bored, pretty girls in attendance at these things. However, tonight he really only wanted to talk to Alan, maybe find out what he thought about the gig or what his plans were for their short break in West Berlin. Martin had requested to have some time off to head back to his flat on Heerstraße, so the rest of the band got to enjoy a few days off as well.

Dave found himself wondering what Alan had up his sleeve for Berlin. If he’d wanted to head out again with Dave in another dress to see if they could con more people, Dave wasn’t exactly opposed to that plan. He wondered if he should be worried about what that meant.

The after-party was held at some fancy club in Mitte, and they were whisked straight to the VIP section which had been cordoned off for them, bottles of various spirits and liquors already waiting on the table. Alan was smiling and talking to the blonde hostess, which spoiled Dave’s celebratory mood. He sullenly downed all the shots Martin and Fletch were passing around, then helped himself to the never-ending flow of wine and whiskey. People came and went: some German bloke from a local electronic band, some journo, some pretty redhead who worked in PR and seemed to touch Dave on the arm a little too much. Dave vindictively latched on to her when he spotted Alan chatting earnestly with a brunette who had short cropped hair.

If Alan was going to act as though nothing had happened between them, then Dave could do it too.

“You sing so well,” the redhead told him. Her name was Maria or Marie, something like that. Dave couldn’t hear her too clearly over the loud music. “My favourite song is ‘Stripped’, you know? Your vocals are so good on that one.”

“Cheers, love.” Dave smiled blandly at her, already used to such platitudes. He couldn’t stop his eyes from straying over to Alan, who was now talking animatedly to a bespectacled bloke in a turtleneck. Then Alan’s gaze was suddenly on him; Dave immediately turned his attention back to Marie/Maria, nodding along as she went on and on about how much she loved their music. He didn’t dare to glance over at Alan again.

As Marie/Maria talked, Dave couldn’t help but notice the colour of her lipstick. It was very flattering for her skin tone, which was similar to his, and he wondered what would be a good, not-suspicious way to ask her where she’d bought this particular shade. It had hints of pink and coral, and he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would look like, smudged on Alan’s lips after Dave kissed him.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Marie/Maria suddenly said with a sly smile, which roused Dave out of his daydreaming and brought him back to earth. “You can do it if you like.”

Dave blinked at her. “Sorry, do what again?”

“You can kiss me.” Marie/Maria winked at him. “I noticed you’ve been staring at my mouth all night.”

 _Oh shit._ Dave reflexively backed away, fumbling for another drink as he stole Martin’s rum and coke. “Erm, sorry love,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “Think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Marie/Maria frowned in confusion, her earlier confidence gone in a flash. Fuck, Dave must have really been careless when he’d eyed her lipstick with fascination. “Oh, sorry then,” she said with a polite smile, which Dave waved off.

It wasn’t even five minutes before she excused herself to go to the ladies'. Later on, Dave wasn’t exactly surprised when he next saw her perched on Martin’s lap, having far more success there as she whispered something salacious in Martin’s ear, his grin widening in response. Heaving a sigh of relief, Dave helped himself to some of the vodka shots Daryl was handing out to everyone.

He was about to down his third when someone clinked their shot glass against his. “What happened to your friend?” Alan asked casually, sliding into the booth beside Dave.

“She wanted to be more than friends.” Dave downed his shot, easing back against the booth so that his shoulder was pressing against Alan’s.

“And you didn’t want that?”

“No,” Dave simply said, as Alan’s mouth twitched up in a pleased smile. “What about yours? Saw you talking to quite a few… _friends_ earlier.”

Alan shrugged in disinterest, his gaze dropping down to Dave’s mouth. “I’ve already forgotten their names.”

Dave couldn’t quite hold back his grin. “Bad luck for them, eh?”

Alan was about to say something when an inebriated Fletch appeared out of nowhere and draped himself over both their laps, laughing as Dave and Alan winced under his sudden weight. Then more people joined them, and Dave silently polished off his drinks in frustration, wishing they were somewhere a little more private.  
  


***  
  


Afterwards Dave was so drunk that he didn’t remember the rest of the after-party, or who had brought him back to the hotel. Startled awake in the middle of - well, whatever time it was - he found himself sitting up in a strange bed, realising this wasn’t his room because the two-seater sofa was on the right side instead of the left. Hearing a few faint snores beside him, Dave looked down to find Alan passed out beside him, still dressed in his clothes from the after-party. Alan looked so peaceful in his sleep that Dave couldn’t help reaching out and combing his fingers through Alan’s gelled hair.

Settling back in bed again, Dave shut his eyes and decided this was tomorrow-Dave’s problem to deal with.

The next time he woke up, the sun was streaming in through the hotel windows, the telly blasting some German talk show. He could hear Alan messing about in the bathroom, humming to himself. Groaning at his hangover, Dave forced himself out of bed and staggered to the mini fridge, stealing one of the Evian bottles there. He had just finished gulping it down by the time Alan emerged from the bathroom, neatly dressed and ready to go out.

“Where you off to, then?” Dave hoped he didn’t sound as petulant as he felt. He didn’t like the thought of Alan making plans without him.

“Dunno about you, but I’m starving. You up for lunch?” Alan was patting his pockets, looking around for his wallet.

This cheered Dave up immensely. “Yeah, give me a while,” Dave said, yawning with a stretch and trying not to feel too smug when Alan’s gaze dipped to his momentarily exposed midriff. “Until I feel human again, at least.”

“So we’re never going out, then?” Alan said innocently, ducking the cushion Dave aimed at his head.

Making his way back to his own room, Dave couldn’t help wondering if they were just going to act as if everything had gone back to normal. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the theme of the day. Their conversation throughout lunch was nothing out of the ordinary, then Alan suggested some shopping along Kurfürstendamm. Dave agreed to accompany him although he couldn’t quite abate the heavy disappointment sitting in his gut. He didn’t know what he was expecting Alan to do; they’d definitely been skirting around the edge of _something_ yesterday at the after-party, but after they’d been interrupted by Fletch, they were seemingly back to being best mates again.

Dave wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or devastated.

They were always recognised more in West Germany than anywhere else, particularly in West Berlin. During their shopping stint, they were stopped for autographs and pictures at least a dozen times. Behind Alan’s polite veneer, Dave could sense that his friend was getting equally frustrated at their day off being interrupted so many times. Dave appreciated their fans, he really did. He knew the other lads did too. But when he wasn’t working, he wanted to decompress a bit and just be himself. Alan was really the only person that Dave felt truly comfortable with to do this. It wasn’t often it was just the two of them, left alone to their devices.

“Come on,” Alan whispered to him after they’d been ambushed by a small crowd outside KaDeWe. “Let’s get a taxi and head somewhere else.”

“Bloody brilliant idea,” Dave agreed, slipping on his shades as Alan did the same. They both heaved a sigh of relief after getting into a cab, the indifferent driver more interested in his radio program than the two of them.

They headed back to Mitte, Alan giving the driver directions to Hackescher Markt. This was a trendy square with boutiques and unique shops instead of malls, which Dave preferred. After stopping outside a cafe for some coffee, they strolled down the streets and peeked into the windows of boutiques that caught their fancy. Alan bought a few shirts from a place that seemed to stock everything in black, while Dave browsed a little art gallery that displayed some really eclectic paintings.

Later on, Dave knew he’d lost Alan when they came across some weird little shop that sold vintage medical equipment, so he told a very distracted Alan that he’d make his way down the street first to see if there was anything else he wanted to buy. Unfortunately, there wasn't much. Dave found himself wandering past a few more boutiques and a little bookshop. He was about to give up and head back to the medical shop when he spotted a small little boutique which sold mainly lingerie.

Dave made his way in, his pulse racing as he laid eyes on the rows and rows of pretty lacy underwear, the mannequins artfully displaying matching sets of bras and knickers. Jo had tried dragging him into such shops before, but he’d always been too embarrassed to follow her in. However, he was in a foreign country now, in a foreign city, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around who recognised him.

The salesgirl politely greeted him as he made his way around the shop, telling him in English to find her at the counter if he needed her help. Glad that the place was otherwise empty, Dave took his time to browse through the various displays, fascinated by the range of underwear available to women. He'd always bought the same 5-in-a-pack briefs and boxers that he'd been purchasing since his teens, so underwear shopping was something he barely spared a thought for. To be confronted with a whole other world of choices was quite a strange experience for him.

A fascinated Dave continued to make his way through the shop, eyeing the different types available: thongs, bikini briefs, even something called boyshorts that resembled boxer briefs for men. Of the lot, these looked the most comfortable to Dave. He picked up a black silk pair, marvelling at its material. For a moment he had the mad idea of wearing these under his white jeans when he was onstage, thousands and thousands of people completely unaware that the lead singer of Depeche Mode was wearing ladies’ underwear.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ‘ding’ of the shop bell, followed by Alan politely greeting the shop assistant.

His pulse started hammering in his ears again as he hurriedly dropped the knickers, clearing his throat. However Alan was already walking up to him, looking back and forth between the piles of underwear and a red-faced Dave as though he were understanding something for the first time. “These look really comfortable,” was the first thing he said, picking up the pair Dave had discarded.

If Alan’s tone had been mocking or insincere, Dave would have probably left the shop and gone straight back to the hotel. But Dave recognised the look on Alan’s face; it was the same expression he’d had when he’d been looking at Dave in the mirror, all dolled up for the first time. Dave heaved out a breath, letting relief - and anticipation - flood through his veins, a warm glow spreading through his body.

Alan was on board with this, with _him_. Dave was safe with him.

“That’s the first thing I thought,” Dave said, his words coming out in a relieved rush. “I thought women’s knickers were supposed to be all skimpy, innit?”

“Apparently not.” Alan was examining the pair, seemingly just as fascinated as Dave. “What else do they have?”

Dave showed Alan the other displays he’d already gone through, though they both stopped to chuckle at one mannequin wearing a black lace camisole that they were pretty sure Martin already owned. “Don’t need to buy that one, you can borrow it off him.” Alan’s mouth was twitching with amusement.

“What, you think Fletch would let me?” Dave retorted.

“Good point. So, what _are_ you going to buy?” Alan made it sound like such an innocent and practical question that Dave decided he was going to walk out of here with something, embarrassment be damned.

Browsing around, Dave’s eye fell on a dark blue silk thong, which had a pretty black lace trim. When he’d been a schoolboy, passing around dirty mags with his classmates, he’d seen a picture of a model wearing something similar, and it’d ingrained a lifelong preference in him for dark, lacy knickers.

“What do you think of these?” Dave asked Alan, fingering the scrap of lace delicately and imagining the whisper of silk on his skin.

Alan was standing very close to him. So close, in fact, that Dave could feel his breath on his shoulder. “Think you should get those,” Alan said very softly.

They stood there in silence for a moment, Dave praying that he wouldn’t get an erection in the middle of a lingerie boutique, standing right next to his best mate. Letting out a stuttered breath, Dave nodded as he picked a few pairs, gratified to notice that Alan was similarly affected with flushed cheeks and a knowing smile.

On the way to the counter, Dave stopped to select some of the boyshorts too. He already suspected Alan was going to make him wear some of these in public, so he might as well be comfortable while doing so.

“Buying these for your girlfriend?” the salesgirl chirped as she began ringing up the purchases on the till.

Alan answered before Dave could. “I’m very much looking forward to seeing her wear them,” he said with a wink, the salesgirl laughing and unaware that Alan’s hand was resting on the small of Dave’s back, warm and possessive.


	6. You’re not going anywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to thank the wonderful **sapphican** for [this beautiful artwork of Alan making Dave pretty](https://youknowhowharditisforme.tumblr.com/post/629983080480899072/happiest-girl-artwork-new-chapter) in Chapter 2. I really can’t believe how many amazing artists are in this fandom, and I love this piece so, so much. Thank you **sapphican**!

In the cab ride back to the InterContinental Hotel, they were both quiet. Alan was staring out of the window, but his hand never strayed far from Dave’s thigh or knee, his grip warm and possessive. In turn, Dave eased out of his shoe and ran his socked foot up and down the side of Alan’s leg. In full view of the driver, Alan had no visible reaction; however, Dave didn’t miss the way the corner of Alan’s mouth tugged up in a secretive little smile, his grip tightening on Dave’s thigh and sliding up just a smidge higher.

Disappointingly, the cab ride came to a stop a bit too soon.

Tumbling out of the cab, they both agreed to grab a shower first and have a bit of a rest before heading out for dinner. After a long bath, Dave was in the middle of drying his hair and wondering whether Alan wanted to doll him up again when the room phone rang. It was Martin, asking if Dave wanted to have dinner with him and his girlfriend Christina, along with a handful of other people. Dave knew Martin seldom got to see Christina when he was on the road, so he’d probably wanted to give her the opportunity to catch up with the rest of the band.

Dave’s gaze landed on the shopping bag emblazoned with the lingerie shop's name. He still didn’t know if Alan had plans tonight for their purchases. “Erm--”

“Before you ask: yes, Alan’s coming,” Martin said with that distinctive, knowing laugh of his.

“Yeah, alright,” Dave said a little too quickly, as though his answer wasn’t dependent on Alan’s attendance. Martin just chuckled at him again before telling him to meet them at the lobby in an hour, leaving Dave a bit miffed as he hung up.

It was a bit rich, seeing how Martin and Fletch were themselves joined at the hip most of the time. For a wild, fleeting moment, Dave wondered if they were secretly shagging each other too. It made him laugh, although he stopped when his thoughts turned to those of him and Alan having sex instead.

It’d been nice. Really nice, actually. Dave wondered when they’d be able to do it again.

His eye fell on the shopping bag of lingerie again, and it gave him quite a naughty idea. If Dave wanted to get Alan in bed tonight, he might have to play dirty a bit and lay some bait for Alan. He went to rifle through the bag, fishing out the dark blue knickers that Alan had very overtly expressed his appreciation for. Dave ran his thumbs over the silky material, a sly smile growing on his face.

He couldn’t wait for Alan’s reaction later.  
  


***  
  


They ended up at a nice restaurant in Martin’s neighbourhood that had quite a varied vegetarian menu, and the owners warmly greeted Martin and Christina by name. Dave found himself seated beside Alan, which was nothing unusual in itself; they’d always gravitated towards each other, long before this silly bet - and whatever else that had transpired between them. It was just that Dave loved whispering their own little shared jokes in Alan’s ear, or sometimes they'd make fun of present company. Tonight, that happened to be poor Daryl, who had no idea his fly was open even though Martin’s face was red with suppressed laughter.

The food was good that evening, the company and alcohol even more excellent. Dave could never find a better pint outside Germany (with the possible exception of Belgium) and therefore drank his fill, laughing loudly at all the stories they were telling a very amused Christina. The hot topic now was the bloke who’d managed to gatecrash the stage in Stuttgart and had tried to grab Dave, who'd nimbly ducked out of his grasp while not missing a beat in the song.

"I've never seen anyone move that fast," Daryl said admiringly, nodding towards Dave who pretended to take a bow.

Martin had a mischievous grin. "Except Andy when it's lunch time.”

Everyone burst out laughing except for an outraged Fletch, his betrayed, "Oi!" just making Dave laugh even louder as he leaned against Alan, who himself was smiling ear to ear.

After dinner, they were all discussing whether to order dessert or head to a club when Dave excused himself to use the restroom. As he stood up, he caught Alan’s eye, dropping him a brief wink before he headed down the corridor to the facilities. The men’s room was deserted, for which Dave was thankful. He casually started washing his hands, wondering if Alan would follow him here. It was entirely possible that he’d misread things in the lingerie shop earlier.

Right on cue, the door suddenly swung open a few moments later, Alan peeking in and grinning when he confirmed they were alone. Locking the door behind him, he took a few steps towards Dave, who was suddenly intoxicated by Alan's nearness and the sharp, clean scent of his aftershave. They stood facing each other, their faces only inches apart. Alan shivered when Dave slowly and deliberately licked his lips.

“Thought you had to use the facilities?” Alan sounded calm, as though he weren’t staring intently at Dave’s mouth.

“Just came in to adjust my underwear,” Dave said with a smirk, as Alan’s eyes widened in realisation. “Trying something new, you see.”

Alan tilted forward just an inch closer. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, never worn these before.” Dave tilted his head down to where he was tugging at the waistband of his own jeans, displaying a tantalising glimpse of the dark blue silk of his new knickers. Alan was staring hard, letting out a shaky breath as Dave popped open the button to give him an even more revealing peek.

“How do they feel?” Alan’s voice was an octave lower, his breath warm on Dave’s face.

Dave leaned in, his nose brushing against Alan’s. “Sexy, smooth...a little indecent, y’know? Like the bloke who picked them out for me.”

Alan laughed. "Wear these the next time I shave your legs," he said with a glint in his eyes. "If you're good, I'll take them off with my teeth."

“Oh fuck, Al,” Dave whispered before he closed the few inches between them and dove in straight for Alan’s mouth.

The kiss was urgent and messy, Dave moaning low in his throat when Alan slid his hand into Dave’s knickers, his palm hot against Dave’s quickly hardening cock. Dave grabbed Alan’s shirt, slamming him up against the wall so that he could grind his erection against Alan’s maddeningly clever hand. Alan’s eyes were half-lidded as he stole kiss after kiss from Dave’s panting mouth, watching Dave with wonder as Alan kept stroking him with the silk fabric wrapped around his shaft. It felt strangely decadent and perverse, but Dave was very much on board with his new combination of sensations, his tongue chasing Alan’s in his mouth.

When Dave could feel himself starting to spiral out of control, he quickly broke off the kiss, chuckling at the way Alan helplessly chased after his mouth. “Wait, stop,” Dave said in a hush, aware that he was being a giant hypocrite with the way he kept diving in to steal kisses from Alan’s mouth.

Alan let out a low groan. “Too much?” he asked, sounding rather resigned.

“A bit,” Dave admitted. A few more strokes of Alan’s hand would have been enough to send Dave over the edge. “At least, not in the men’s room at Mart’s favourite restaurant, yeah?”

Nodding in frustration, Alan tipped his head back and closed his eyes, probably willing himself to calm down. This exposed the beautiful line of his gorgeous pale throat, and Dave couldn’t resist bending down to bestow a kiss on the bump of his Adam’s apple.

Straightening themselves up, Dave zipped up his jeans and Alan fixed his hair. They nodded quickly at each other before Alan darted forward and unlocked the doors, exiting the toilets first. Dave hung back to stare at himself in the mirror, cataloguing the swollenness of his lips and the red marks on his neck. “Fuckin’ get a grip, Gahan,” he scolded himself, splashing his face with cold water.

He needed it.  
  


***  
  


After dinner, their group somehow abandoned their plan to go clubbing and ended up in Martin’s and Christina’s flat, which was a short walk from the restaurant. Although Dave would have rather dragged Alan back to the hotel so that they could continue that _very_ promising kiss in the men’s room earlier, he was also curious to see what Martin’s place looked like.

The flat was large and had an industrialised look to it with its bare concrete flooring and exposed brick walls. Christina explained to them how she’d tried giving the place a softer, more homey feel with rugs, paintings and warm, cosy furniture, although there wasn’t much of it. Since most of the chairs were occupied and Alan was sharing the sofa with Daryl, Dave was considering whether to sit on the floor when Alan grinned at him and patted his knee. “C’mon Gahan, plenty of room here,” he said, waggling his eyebrows as Daryl laughed.

“Don’t bitch when I break your lap,” Dave warned him, making his way over and perching himself on Alan’s thigh. Alan pretended to let out a loud, ‘Oof!’ for which Dave smacked him on the knee as the rest laughed. Martin and Christina brought out a few bottles of Riesling, everyone drinking out of mismatched cups and mugs.

Maybe Dave was drunk - and a bit high - but Alan’s lap was really more comfortable than it looked. It didn’t help that Alan kept stroking up and down Dave’s spine, his hand occasionally slipping under the fabric of Dave’s shirt, the pads of his fingers warm on Dave’s skin.

Of course - knowing Alan - that was only a prelude.

Dave fought to keep himself still as Alan’s clever hands started finding sneaky little ways to slide in under the waistband of his jeans, ‘accidentally’ brushing against the lace hem of his knickers every now and then. He could also feel the warm huffs of Alan’s breath against his right shoulder, especially whenever Alan laughed at someone’s joke. At some point, Daryl got up to go use the loo, and Dave was about to slide down into the space he’d vacated when he felt Alan’s arm brace across his waist, keeping him still. “You’re not going anywhere,” Alan whispered in Dave’s ear. The underlying steel in his voice made Dave shiver, quickly gulping down the rest of his wine to mask his arousal.

This was a side of Alan that Dave was rather curious - and admittedly eager - to see more of. It was no secret that Alan liked being in control, and Dave remembered the few times they’d followed Mart to some of the S & M clubs he liked to frequent. Dave hadn’t really fancied all the leashes and whips they’d seen, but he’d remembered Alan being a little wide-eyed as they watched people getting willingly restrained to various contraptions. At the time he’d just teased Alan for being a kinky bastard, but it wasn’t quite so funny now, thinking of Alan tying _him_ up and having his way with Dave.

Maybe Alan was thinking of the same thing; his lap was a little bumpier to sit on now, as Dave could feel something pressing against his bum. He cheekily wiggled his arse a bit, just to feel Alan’s grip tighten on him with a low groan.

As Daryl ended up getting drawn into a card game in Martin’s kitchen, Dave was forced to get off Alan’s lap and plop down next to him instead; Fletch’s suspicious glances at the two of them were starting to linger a bit too long anyway. Alan’s eyes were dark with barely contained desire, his thigh pressed against Dave’s. “Want to head back to the hotel?” he asked, mild as anything, as though they were talking about the weather.

Dave allowed his gaze to openly rake all over Alan’s body: his perfectly quiffed hair, his intense stare, his deceptively soft lips, his long pale throat, his solid and warm chest, his delicate and skilled hands, his strong, muscled thighs. Dave’s mouth almost watered at the thought of getting Alan into his bed again. “Yeah sure, why not?” Dave replied, because Alan bloody Wilder wasn’t the only one who could play coy.

Alan’s smile turned sly, his eyes mentally undressing Dave in turn. A thrill shot down Dave’s spine at the reminder that Alan would soon strip him down to those lacy knickers, and nothing else. “Let’s ask Mart to call us a cab, then.”

Dave’s smile matched Alan’s own. He couldn’t wait.  
  
  
  



End file.
